The Witcher: Geralt and the Gwent Tournament (part 4)

Chapter 14: School of the Viper

As Geralt leaned against the cage, worry etched on his face, he scanned his surroundings for any potential means of escape. His keen senses picked up on the subtle sounds of approaching footsteps. Just as he resigned himself to the limitations of the cage, a familiar voice echoed from the shadows.

“Geralt of Rivia, School of the Wolf,” the voice said, drawing Geralt’s attention. As the figure emerged from the darkness, it revealed itself to be Serrit, a fellow Witcher from the School of the Viper. A tense exchange unfolded between them, with Serrit accusing Geralt of aligning with the wrong side.

“This is the second time you’ve aligned yourself with the wrong side, Serrit,” Geralt spat, anger evident as his fists gripped the bars of his cell, knuckles white.

“How the tide has changed, Geralt. First, you killed my brother in your fight against Emhyr, and now you play his lapdog, serving in his secret service,” Serrit replied, a cold edge to his voice.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Serrit!” Geralt retorted. He was only working with Emhyr for Ciri’s sake, he believed.

“The spy you are working with, she is deceiving you, Geralt. She is trying to stop a rebellion against Emhyr,” Serrit declared.

“What do you mean, spy?” Geralt asked.

“Exactly that! Dear Gods, Geralt, did you really have no idea?” Serrit said in disgust.

“No!” Geralt shouted, confused by the realization that he had been blinded by his desires.

“Cantarella is the head of the Nilfgaardian Secret Service, you idiot. Why else would you both be here?” Serrit questioned.

“Because of the stolen money from the tournament I won. We made a pact to split the money and she…she needed protection,” Geralt stated, the realization of the trap she set dawning on him.

“Then you are a bigger fool than I thought,” Serrit remarked with a hint of disdain.

Geralt’s mind raced trying to understand the web of lies that led him to his moment. “Serrit, I thought you were dead,” Geralt said.

“I fled after our last altercation and faked my death to escape. It was the only way. All of the members of the school of vipers have been hunted down,” he said, a sad look crossing his face, “This was to be my last stand. A fight against Emhyr, the king who paid me to kill the northern Kings then lied and betrayed,” Serrit explained, thoughts of his lost brother and the dashed hopes of rebuilding the school of the viper.

“I…I am sorry about your brother. My fight is not with you. I need to save Ciri. The Wild Hunt is back,” said Geralt, his regret for needing to kill the witcher to save the king he swore to protect from Emhyr weighing on him.

“I am done fighting other people’s wars. The Wild Hunt is not my concern anymore,” said Serrit. “Just don’t get in my way Geralt, you owe me that much!” Serrit walked away, disappearing in the shadows.

As the minutes ticked away, Geralt’s thoughts wandered to Sasha. If she was working for Nilfgaard as a spy he had to understand what she knew and what Emhyr’s true intentions were in finding Ciri. If Emhyr had sent others to find Ciri he must be up to something.

Fueled by the desire to protect Ciri, Geralt shook the cage doors, testing their strength. In frustration, he remembered the hidden compartment in his boot. There, he retrieved a concealed vial containing a substance that granted him enhanced strength. As he ingested the golem-infused vial, a transformation overcame him—his muscles grew taut, his veins pulsated with dark energy, and his entire demeanor exuded newfound strength.

Empowered by the mutagenic effects, Geralt’s hands gripped the iron bars of his gap, his rippling arms pulled, bending the metal as it creaked before the lock snapped with a loud clang. His blackened eyes reflected a determination to confront Serrit. With the vial coursing through his veins, he located his sword, which had been stored nearby. The silver blade met his hand with familiarity, and Geralt, now armed and empowered, prepared to hunt down Serrit and find Sasha.

“You should have stayed in your cage, Geralt!” Serrit said as Geralt finished putting on his gear. As Geralt turned around he saw Serrit, his dual silver blades glimmered in the dim light. Like Geralt, his face was etched with the poisons of monsters, his eyes were now solid black, and his mind appeared more focused. “I have been preparing for this day!”

In the dimly lit room, the clash of swords echoed through the air as Geralt, wielding his mighty two-handed sword, faced off against Serrit. Although Geralt was notably stronger, Serrit’s speed and dexterity were complimented by how he expertly wielded his two swords with deadly precision. The dance of blades created a symphony of steel, each strike and parry a testament to their skill.

Geralt’s broad strokes with the heavy sword were met with Serrit’s swift and agile movements. Sparks flew as their blades collided, filling the cavern with the scent of metal and the energy of their fierce battle.

Quick as a howling wind, Serrit dives in, his two poison-tipped swords on either side of him. As he darts forward, Geralt’s large sword slices at Serrit. With cat-like reflexes, Serrit kicks off the ground changing his trajectory, his body sliding under Geralt’s blade, barely dodging Geralt’s attack. As Serrit rolls out of the way, his blade slices Geralt’s leg.

The slicing of the cut accompanied by a burning poison was radiated on his thigh. Geralt grits his teeth and focuses on his target.

Serrit turns, and pounces on Geralt again, this time Geralt is ready, his two-handed sword swinging with such ferocity that it repels Serrit, throwing him backward. Like a cat, he lands on his feet and presses forward again, this time charging Geralt’s other leg.

Geralt’s foot position changes. He jumps out of the way of the attack while attempting to land his sword from above but he is too late as his sword slices through the air.

With his hurt leg, Geralt knew he couldn’t keep this up. Eventually, Serrit would land one too many cuts. The two warriors circled each other, eyes locked in a deadly stare.

Serrit crouched down ready to pounce, but then almost as if reading each other’s minds they both cast Aard into each other. The gust of wind blasted both of them backward. Geralt crashes into the cage that once contained him, his sword clattering several feet away from him. Serrit crashed into a barrel of oil, the liquid seeping into his leather armor.

Serrit immediately sensed his disadvantage. He assessed the situation, his options limited, realizing that continuing the fight could lead to his or both of their demises. His studded leather armor was saturated in the flammable animal fat oil. As he stood, his feet slid on the sheen of oil that surrounded him. He not only lost traction and any dexterity advantage he may have had but he realized if Geralt used the Igni sign, blasting him with a stream of fire, he would light him up like a fireball.

In that moment he knew revenge would have to wait. In a strategic move, Serrit disengaged. He walked along the wall of barrels a safe distance from Geralt, knowing if he was struck by the Igni the entire building would explode. He slowly edged to the exit aiming to retreat.

“Geralt, this battle will not end well for either of us,” Serrit said, his weapons sheathed, his hands up. “Do not stop me from taking Bernard’s ship and having my revenge against Emyhr and I will not stop you from finding your precious spy, Cantarella, and getting the coin you lost. She is with Bernard now giving him the secret locations of Emyhr’s armies. Everything you need is in his private chateau at the edge of Novigrad. Are we agreed?” With a nod of acknowledgment, Serrit made a swift retreat, abandoning the battle to fight another day.

Geralt assessed his surroundings. Taking advantage of the moment, Geralt sheathed his sword and took a mix of elixirs to heal the poison and prepare him for the battle ahead. Determined to save Ciri, he let Serrit and the ship go. His attention turned to Sasha, he had figured out what she knew.

Chapter 15: Finding Sasha

The walled chateau stood imposingly in the moonlit night, its large walls rising tall and sturdy, a formidable barrier protecting the secrets within. The entrance was secured by a large reinforced wooden gate that was locked, a sentinel denied entry to all but the chosen few. Geralt, however, was determined to breach this fortress and uncover the mysteries concealed behind the guarded walls.

Peering over the formidable barrier, Geralt observed a multitude of guards patrolling the grounds. The throngs of vigilant sentinels created a living tapestry of movement, their armor glinting in the moonlight as they protected a singular structure that rose majestically from the center of the courtyard.

This central building, distinct from the others, reached heights that eclipsed its surroundings. Its architecture spoke of grandeur and importance, a beacon drawing Geralt’s attention. The courtyard, surrounded by these formidable structures, held an air of secrecy and hidden agendas. Shadows danced on the cobblestone paths as the guards maintained their watch, unaware of the impending intrusion.

Geralt’s keen eyes scanned the surroundings, noting the strategic placement of guards, the patterns of their patrols, and the vulnerabilities he could exploit. The night, with its cloak of darkness, became his ally, offering concealment for his inevitable entrance into the heart of the chateau. With each passing moment, the anticipation built, and Geralt prepared to navigate the labyrinth of walls and guards to reach his elusive destination.

Under the cloak of darkness, Geralt moved like a shadow through the Chateau’s surroundings. The night seemed to embrace him, and he felt the hum of potions coursing through his veins, enhancing his ability to heal and boosting his strength. Scaling walls and navigating rooftops with the grace of a cat, he approached the imposing structure, determined to unravel the truth.

As he stealthily advanced, he observed the guards stationed around the perimeter, their presence indicating heightened security. Geralt moved with the expertise of a seasoned hunter, slipping past them like a whisper in the night.